


¿Qué es eso? ¿Qué es esto?

by ahhhhrexa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Friendship, Hotel, Locker Room, Luchessi, M/M, Post FC Barcelona vs Atletico Madrid, Sexual Tension, Stadium, Team as Family, The Post that Took Forever, angry team, camp nou, concerned team, tags for everyone because they deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhhhrexa/pseuds/ahhhhrexa
Summary: Luis Enrique was visibly in a rage.“They are a tough team.” Lucho said. He made eye contact with Andres first and moved on to a different player as he continued to speak, “But we’re tougher. It doesn’t matter how much they try to pull us down, we always get up and fight back harder.” When Lucho's eyes find Lio’s, Lio almost reeled backward. The mister’s eyes though angry had somehow gotten more dangerous and there was softness to them, one that wasn’t there before. He shifted in his seat, waiting for the coach to move his gaze to a different person. “You got another forty-five minutes in those legs of yours?” the mister asked gruffly. Something peculiar flashed through the man’s eyes, but Lio couldn’t quite place what it is. Lio nodded. He could feel the eyes of his teammate all on him, but the eyes that pushed him the hardest, that seemed to go straight into him were the eyes of his coach. “Wouldn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me down again,” Lio said confidently.Lucho grinned in response.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/gifts).



> It's a long time coming, my friends. But the fic is finally here. I promised this along time ago to Kathleen. I'm sorry it took forever! I hope you and others enjoy this! :) <3 
> 
> This one is inspired by Felipe Luis' (Atleti) foul on Lionel Messi (FC Barcelona) during a match in La Liga 2015/2016 season that ended in 2-1 (Barcelona 2-Atleti 1)

Just outside the lockers, by one of the many mini-conference rooms, in the area where injured or nearly injured players are examined, Lionel Messi is on a high bed-like table, headrest pushed up so he can lounge in a sitting position rather than a lying down one. His eyes are closed as he takes in slow and deep breaths. He has just been finished being treated by massage therapists. They rubbed and treated the sore tissues on his body, and soothed a bit of the ache that was on his knee.

 

\--

  
_“The fucker!” Mascherano cussed, his whole body was shaking ferociously. He was pacing back and force in the locker room, eyes darting from one person to the next, always checking up on Lio as if to make sure that he was still there with them. “Those motherfuckers!”_

_“They’re trying to take us all out.” Neymar said. He was unnaturally still, eyes were glazed over, and his hands lay on his lap completely limp._

_Everyone was feeling a bit anxious, nerves were bundled up, the anger burned their bodies, and the frustration in the air was almost palpable._

_If an outsider came into the locker room, that person wouldn’t have figured out that they were winning. The person would think that something was wrong, that maybe the team was losing and wasn't playing well. They would see that some people were shouting, and that others were silently fuming, and some were seemingly talking in a calm matter though the tone in their voices would be betray that notion._

_Lio was sitting between Marc Andre ter Stegen and Luis Suarez. They have been by his side every since the first half came to an end. They didn’t move when the doctors went to double check and triple check his legs. Marc Andre’s eyes were cold, the blue in them looked like the deepest depths of the ocean, and Luis’s eyes were fiery, and the brown in them looking deeper too, almost like a vortex of anger._

_He was rubbing his leg every couple of seconds. He felt quite a lot of pain. The way the cleats impacted against his knee had left a huge red mark. He knew there was a bruise under there and maybe there could be a scar replacing it in a few days._

_He wouldn’t say he was as pissed as his teammates, but he was just as frustrated. How often did the ref allow these things to happen? The official had no control of the game and that’s why he was fouled like that._

_“They had the fucking nerve to try to argue about the red card?” Masche continued in his tirade. Everyone was forced to listen to it even if some were having their own respective conversations. “Had the balls to try to say that wasn’t done on purpose!”_

_Andres walked into the locker room after talking to one of the refs. He looked tired, a bit overwhelmed even, and he was rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to soothe a part of him. He sat down by Busi and like the others, listened to the words from the fourth captain._

_“Any hint on how long they could suspend him for?” Claudio asked loudly just so his words could be heard over Masche’s. He was standing near the door that led to the showers. His arms were folded and he looked like he had just come out of some deep thoughts._

_Andres shook his head. “It wasn’t clear,” he replied. He wiped a bit a sweat that was on his forehead. “I made sure to let them know how unacceptable it was. The red card was the right move.” He shook his head again. “I told them that they need to take control of the game because I won’t let any of you deal with this nonsense any longer.”_

 

_“And they go after Ney, for what?” Masche shouted. His eyes went soft when he saw Ney flinch. Dani, and Rafinha were at his side, a hand on his shoulders, and they were whispering into his ears. “For what?” Masche continued, no longer shouting but still keeping his tone angry._

_“They’ve got their red.” Ivan said as he kept his distance from Masche. He was standing against the wall. Jordi’s head on was on his shoulder and the Croatian was holding the shorter man’s hand. “But will it really change their way of playing?”_

_Lio doesn’t think Atleti will change the way they handle things. It was in their blood to fight with that much grit, with that much passion although the passion was a bit more chaotic than the passion of other teams they’ve faced. He had learned this from the moment El Cholo took over the team._

_“They probably like getting at least one red, huh?” Masche asked sarcastically. He was still pacing, and his powerful steps stomped loudly on the tile floor. “Those fuckers.”_

_Geri approached Masche slowly. His hands were up as if to show that Masche that he didn’t mean any danger to the Argentine. There was a wild look in his eyes._

_“They’re down to ten men,” he said. He put his hands on Masche’s shoulders and Masche stiffened at the touch. Both of their faces were red with anger. “They’re bastards. But we have a whole second half to deal with.” He placed his forehead onto Masche’s. “We got another half to beat them.”_

_Everyone became quiet when the mister walked into the locker room, and he was followed by the rest of his coaching staff. They looked at him expectantly, loyal soldiers ready for the orders from their accomplished general._

_Lio wasn’t blind to how furious the mister looked. Lucho was visibly in a rage, red all over, his dark curls more ruffled than before, and his fists were clenched. The man’s lips were tight together, his chest was rising up and down quickly, and his eyes were dark and dangerous._

_“They are a tough team.” Lucho eventually said after a pregnant pause. He made eye contact with Andres first and moved on to a different player as he continued to speak, “But we’re tougher. It doesn’t matter how much they try to pull us down, we always get back up and fight back harder.”_

_When Lucho's eyes find Lio’s, Lio almost reeled backward. The mister’s eyes though angry had somehow gotten more dangerous and there was softness to them, one that wasn’t there before. He shifted in his seat, waiting for the coach to move his gaze to a different person._

_“You got another forty-five minutes in those legs of yours?” the mister asked gruffly. Something peculiar flashed through the man’s eyes, but Lio couldn't quite place what it is._

_Lio nodded and sat up straighter. He could feel the eyes of his teammates all on him, but the eyes that pushed him the hardest, that seemed to go straight into him, that pierced him were the eyes of his coach._

_“Wouldn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me down again,” Lio said confidently and bit grimly._

_Lucho grinned in response._

-

The game was over at last. Like all the other games against Atleti in the past three seasons, there was an extra toughness and exhilaration coming from both sides. The day’s match wasn’t about looking pretty while winning. When it comes to going up against this Madrid side, the battles were like a great boxing match, who could hit who harder, who could withstand the most punches, who had more grit, and the fighting costs more than a tooth and nail.

 

Being fouled like he was isn’t a pleasant thing to deal with. Sometimes in those moments, life can flash through your eyes and a soft, dangerous whisper makes you wonder if you’re in the every ending stage of one’s career.

 

He remembers the pain of the cleat touching his knee. He can feel the way he fell on the ground, grasping his leg, and grimacing. He recalls a ton of shouts both familiar and not familiar. The faithful of Camp Nou were whistling and shouting. He tried to open up his eyes and in those few seconds, he saw Luis standing over him, Geri talking to someone, and Ney glaring daggers at another person.

 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open for long. The pain was a bit unbearable. He was panicking for a bit. Would this be the last time he played? Is he injured? Why the hell did that cleat land on his knee like that? He’d seen that video on YouTube documenting the worse fouls ever. He remembered the one foul where the cleats reached the thigh and the skin broke apart revealing bone and tissue. He thought about the one foul that hit the knee and broke the leg.

 

Thank goodness I didn’t break anything, he thinks.

 

On the way to the tunnel, he remembers seeing the look on the staffs face. There was so much worry. Each of them looked at him and appeared to mentally assess him. But the mister was different, while he did look concerned, he didn’t let his eyes stay on Lio for too long. He just patted Lio on the back and made his way toward the press conference room.

 

Lio wonders what the mister was thinking during the foul, while he was on the floor, and at the moment before he walked through the tunnel. Did the man leap up from his box or his seat crying foul? Did he raise his arms up in anger? He’s seen the mister do that before, but it was always controlled, never exaggerated and never completely free as if a part of him was holding things back.

 

The relationship between the two of them wasn’t as sour as it had been in the first few months of Lucho’s Barca coaching career. Lio likes the way they both progressed as coach and player together. They had both been incredibly stubborn during that very first training session. He wanted a foul called and the mister didn’t see one.

 

Everything got blow out of proportion. Lots of newsstands and television anchors and pundits reported that there was a war between the two of them. He remembers the time he saw the rumor that he was leaving. Like as if a coach could make him leave? No, if he were to leave Barca, it would be on his own accord not because of someone else.

 

Things are better now despite the fact neither of them actually gave one another an apology for their behavior.

 

It was a bit odd, he thinks.

 

\--

 

_“You called for me?” Lio asked after he had shut the door._

_He was in Luis Enrique’s office, standing a bit in front of the door, hand on top of one of the two chairs in front of him. He was called to come here an hour after the first training session of the day._

_The mister was reading whatever was in the binder he was holding. He used a hand to motion for Lio to sit down._

_Lio looked around the office. There were bookshelves that had binders on them. A mini fridge was in one of the corners with bottles of rum and whiskey standing on top of it. The desk had a bunch of papers neatly on top of it. He found it interesting that there were a lot of Barca crests and Catalan flags on many objects in the room like the binder, and the clock. It reminded him a bit of Pep._

_But the mister wasn’t Pep, Lio thought._

_Both were coaches that knew what they wanted, had a plan set for just about anything. One of the many differences between the two was that Enrique could be a bit cold, but not in the traditional sense. The coldness only came out if he thought one of his players wasn’t giving themselves one hundred and ten percent in training. The man was a fan of shutting someone out if they didn’t heed to his plans._

_“Do you believe in the work that I’ve done?” Enrique asked, putting down the binder. He folded his hands and laid it on the binder. “Do you buy into what I’m trying to put into this team?”_

_Lio remembered the training session where they got into an argument. It was over a foul and neither would give way about it. He had been so furious because he truly believed that he was right, but so did the mister._

_Putting that aside, Lio couldn’t deny the way his teammates seemed to be hungrier than the last season. It was in everyone’s eyes. They were hungry for trophies, for overcoming challenges, and for being the best. Though he tried to deny it at first, Lio felt the same way._

_Everything felt new and possible to him. After a season of nothing and a summer of heartbreak, it felt good to see the possibilities that the mister outlined for all of them. He worked harder in the training sessions, and there also seemed to be more humor in the pre-training sessions. Everyone was hungry, but also happier than before._

_Thanks to you, he thought._

_“Yes, I do,” he answered. He didn’t feel any regret about the answer and about how things were going. He felt rather determined, secure, and completely convinced that whatever the mister was cooking up that it would only turn out good with a taste of victory. “I really do.”_

_Enrique smiled and Lio felt something in his stomach move. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”_

\--

Lio continues to breathe in and out, finding that controlling his breathing was relaxing and it keeps his mind off the burn on his body. He thinks the rhythm of it all to be so simple.

 

One slow breath in.

 

One slow breath out.

 

Repeat.

 

He feels himself getting more and more tired, and his thoughts become less on his breathing and more about finishing that dream he had last night about Argentina and of dulce de leche.

 

The silence that keeps him refuge doesn’t last for long though. He doesn’t get a chance to sleep because he hears a loud thud. He doesn’t open his eyes to check where it comes from. Instead he adjusts himself, putting his other leg down from it’s bent position, relaxing it so he doesn’t feel numb and waits.

 

Thud.

 

Knock.

 

Thud.

 

He keeps his eyes closed tight. He hopes that whoever it was leaves quickly. Maybe they’ll take the hint of no one saying anything to them from inside, or moving to open the door as a sign to go away. Maybe the thud is some sort of accident and isn’t something directed at this room he's in. Maybe the doctor left his room locked so no matter how hard someone else tried they wouldn’t be able to come in.

 

It’s a maybe for a reason because he hears the door swing open, hitting the wall loudly. He hears the slightest sound of something being clicked. Stubbornly, he keeps his eyes shut even tighter; even rolling them despite the fact that he knows no one will see it. Sounds of heavy footfall attack his ears, so much of it going around that it sounds like pack of sheep being shoved in by their shepherd.

 

Thud.

 

That’s probably the door, he thinks.

 

“Do you know how much that costs?” says a familiar voice somewhat seriously.

 

It’s Mascherano.

 

Another click sounds off as if someone has just locked the door.

 

“Enough for all of us to pitch in,” replies someone that sounds a lot like Geri.

 

It must be Geri, Lio thinks.

 

More shuffling of feet sound off.

 

“Why do you volunteer for us?” says Luis. More shuffling. “I didn’t say I’ll help pay for anything.”

 

“Like you don’t have the money.” Geri retorts. “80 million contract, please. I’m sure you can spare a couple of those euros.”

 

“It was 81 million.”

  
  
Crack.

 

Thud.

 

Lio inwardly cringes. Something just broke and he could only imagine who was responsible for it. And to think, I was going to take a nap, he thinks a bit sorely. There’s no way that will be happening now.

 

Especially when it concerns Geri.

 

Another crack.

 

“Great, you know if the mister sees this. --” Masche begins to say, but the rest of his words are muffled.

 

“Ow!” Neymar hisses in pain.

 

Thud.

 

Crack.

 

“Don’t be a baby.” Geri says, using his parental voice.

 

“He bit me like Gordo.” Ney complains.

 

Lio imagines that Ney is licking his wounds both figuratively and literally.

 

“Who do you think he learned it from?” says Luis in reply, cackling a bit.

 

Crack.

 

“That makes four,” Masche says. Lio knows that tone. It’s filled with exasperation with a mild amusement underneath. He bets that Masche is glaring and grinning at the same time. “Four things that you’ve all broken.”

 

A cacophony of protests of differing levels of tone follows this statement from Masche. More sounds of shuffling feet and things being moved around come through. There’s Geri’s chuckle, and Luis and Neymar’s giggles adding to the disturbance.

 

“He’s sleeping isn’t he?” Jordi says in a shouted whisper.

 

Jordi? Just how many of his teammates are in this room right now?

 

So many questions, he thinks. One of them is if he has enough control to continue the charade of him “sleeping.” He could open his eyes and ask what they all were up to, but again, feeling curious and a bit mischievous, he waits it out.

 

“That’s your whisper, Jordi?” Busi asks, clearly incredulous.

 

“Worst whisper I’ve ever heard in my life.” Ney adds, failing at whispering.

 

“I can whisper.” Geri joins in. Lio visualizes his childhood friend’s semi-crazy eyes and grin. “I can so whisper!”

 

Thud.

 

Thud.

 

“I’m surprised he can sleep through all your chatter.” Andres says almost regrettably, like he doesn’t agree with what’s going on.

 

The question persists in Lio’s mind: how many of his teammates just decide to stuff themselves into this room?

 

“He sleeps like a log.” Geri and Masche say at the same time.

 

“Unlike this one.” Marc Andre laughs.

 

“Hey. I can sleep through anything.” Rafa says back.

 

“Shhh.” A couple of people say.

  
  
“You shh.” Another couple of people say.

 

Crack.

 

Another one, Lio thinks.

 

He’s about ready to break. His leg still hurts and his arms need to be stretched. He wants to head into the showers and have the hot water fall upon him so his muscles can stop being so tense. He also wants to open his eyes and see the mess that his friends made because honestly, he does enjoy seeing the trouble his friends find themselves in.

 

Sounds of bickering take hold.

 

“Geri!” cries out either Marc or Sergi. Lio thinks it’s both.

 

Thud.

 

“I transferred into this?” Claudio asks.

 

Crack.

 

“Andres, I think Masche needs to be in a time out.” Geri says almost breathlessly.

 

“I’m not the baby.” Masche responds. “You’re the one that needs a time out.”

 

Thud.

 

“I don’t remember Xavi ever having to deal with this.” Andres says.

 

Lio wonders how anyone ever deals with it all.

 

It takes a lot as a captain to deal with all the different personalities especially ones that clash and gel so well together. He thinks about how some coaches have been able to deal with it. Rijkaard sort of had a handle on Deco, Ronnie and the rest of them. Tata did his best but a lot of people acted out. The famed Pep had a rough start but was able to get everyone to follow him blindly.

 

And Tito, he thinks a bit sadly.

 

He feels his heart break just a bit thinking about the late mister. Everyone had followed Pep blindly, but everyone followed Tito with eyes wide open. Pep was a mentor and a teacher, who everyone admired, but Tito was a father and everyone wanted to do right for their father and make their father proud.

 

Their current mister was a curious case. It started a bit rough for him too. Lio wasn’t one who boarded that train at the start and neither were others like Geri. They were a bit hesitant because of the lack of hunger from Tata. Enrique reminded him a bit like Pep and Tito. He had Tito’s forward attitude, honest and direct, but he also had Pep’s tenacity, and foresight.

 

-

 

_“How long can you run for without stopping?” Jordi asked, sitting down on the hotel room floor. His legs were crossed over one another and he had his elbows down on his knees while he hands held his face. “How long before you get tired?”_

 

_Nearly every player in the listed squad was in the mister’s hotel room. Everyone was too hyped up over the thrilling win to sleep. They one by one found themselves in the coach’s room. Enrique, at first, wanted them all to go to bed, but after some words from Xavi, he relented._

_For the past two hours they had been asking him questions and he had answered them. Lio appreciated how easy the conversation was going. It was really nice to see how open they were all being with each other._

_Some were sitting on the floor, others stood up against the walls, and some had the gall to occupy the bed. Their attention was solely on their coach who was sitting on the only coach, legs crossed and an easygoing smile on his face._

_Right beside him, Lio sat._

_“I don’t know the exact number.” Enrique replied. “I’m not a mathematician." He laughed with a shrug. "All I know is that I can run far.”_

_Geri said, “You did a marathon.” He was lying on the bed, feet hanging off the edge, and he had Luis and Ney on the right of him, and Masche on the left of him. He was clutching a pillow and he continued, “An Ironman too. Wow, mister, wow.” He laughed. “I think you need to get Luisito on that regime, you know.”_

_Everyone including Lio laughed with him. It was an inside joke among them all that Luis didn’t like taking off his shirt, that he liked to eat, and that he was on the big side._

_“Be nice.” Xavi said with a grin. He was sitting on a chair near the desk. His arms were around Andres who sat on his lap.  
_

_“So you played for Madrid?” Munir asked. Everyone perked up at the question. They all knew their coach’s playing history, but at the mention of their eternal rival, they were even more interested in Enrique’s answer._

_The smile on Enrique’s face grew wider. Lio could see his eyes flash as if reliving a memory. His eyes wandered down to the man’s hand that lay on the space between them. He saw many calluses, a bit of cracks, and some lines on the hand. Those were working hands, long used to ride bikes, climb up rocks, and pave many paths._

_The hand was rough and tough. Lio wondered just how much. Could they be gentle as well? He mentally gasped at the question. It was just a hand. Nothing more, he thought. It was just a hand._

_“I did what I signed to do.” Enrique said. He moved his hand a bit and Lio felt his lips twitch. “I played hard and I scored goals.”_

_“Against Barca?” Sandro asked even though everyone knew the answer._

_The mister moved his hand again, drew it to his lap, and Lio averted his eyes from the lower part of the man’s body. He blinked a bunch and adjusted himself in his seat as Enrique smiled, his eyes shined so bright._

_“Of course he scored against Barca.” Pedro said. He stretched his arms out over his head as he sat on the floor with Ivan. “But he never celebrated it like he did when he scored against Madrid as a Cule.”_

_“I wasn’t from La Masia, but I felt Cule. I feel Cule.” Enrique said and he meant every word. He leaned back into the couch, completely at ease. “I never felt anything for Madrid. They didn’t love me and I didn’t love them.”_

_Lio looked at the mister. He started at the man’s dark locks to the nose to the forehead and stopping at the man’s lips. The smile, so bright and positive, hadn’t faded. He could see the evident affection that Enrique had for Barcelona. He felt the dreams, the mad love that the man felt for the club._

_It was familiar because he had the same feeling._

_“But you love Barca now,” Lio found himself saying. His eyes look away from his coach’s lips, away from how handsome his coach was looking. He kept his face straight and unreadable as he looked down at his lap. “Gijon is your home and always will be, but you love Barca too?”_

_Lio couldn’t see it, but he could feel Enrique’s eyes on him. He wanted to get off the couch and leave the room. Or at least sit next to Geri, he thinks. He refused to show any signs of nervousness or whatever. If it was nervousness he felt he wasn’t sure._

_“I found romance at Barca.”_

-

Crack.

 

Lio counts the sound to be seven. There are seven cracks of some unknown thing being broken and if he pretends any longer he’s sure that the whole room will be completely destroyed. Giving up on his little game, Lio opens his eyes, immediately thankful that the ceiling is in tact. The little things, he thinks.

 

The bickering is louder now.

 

He turns his head to his right, wishing upon an imagined star that the room wasn’t in total shambles. To his surprise, he sees more than the twelve people the he counted. Besides Geri and Masche, Ney and Luis, Jordi and Busi, and Andres, Marc and Sergi, Marc Andre and Rafa, and Claudio and Dani, there was also Ivan, Munir, and Sandro in the room.

 

He’s quite amazed at how a small, a little close to medium room, is able to fit all of them. His lounging chair is set up right against the wall. To the best of his ability, he wants to focus on what they are doing and not what they are saying. So with great effort, he blocks out the sound.

 

On the left side, in front of him, close to the window overlooking the hallway, there stand Ney, Masche, Luis and Geri. His fellow Argentine looks about ready to pop, his arms are moving about, hand gestures galore directed solely at Geri who is matching his hand gestures with sarcastic laughs and witty remarks while Ney and Luis are poking and pinching one another.

 

There’s a noticeably large hole in the window, Lio notices.

 

Lio knows that if he weren’t a bit shaken up from that foul he’d probably be in the middle of that. He knows what would have happened. He’ll just be minding his own business, probably drinking some mate, and then those four will get into their little fights. He’ll have to dodge pokes and neutrally tell both Masche and Geri that they are both great people, and in return he gets the “Lio, help me!” cries, and the “Oh he’s awful, Lio. Stop lying!” cries to answer to.

 

A bit ahead of them, somehow fitting into the corner, there are Jordi and Busi. The taller of the two is also using hand gestures although not as aggressively as Masche is doing them. Jordi’s not even looking at Busi but instead is watching the argument between Geri and Masche, clearly amused, and looks to be eating an invisible non-existent popcorn.

 

Lio shakes his head. Ever since Pedro left, communication between those two hasn’t exactly been as fined tune as it should be.

 

Right below them, he finds, are the bottom ends of a chair. So that’s the second thing that broke, he thinks. Just a bit ahead of the wooden legs is the seat of a chair. Oh they broke the whole thing, he thinks in fascination.

 

Moving his gaze on over to a bit in front of the door, he spots Marc Andre and Rafa sitting on the floor together. Both are holding onto one leg of a chair in each hand. They’re not bickering with words. They’re actually having a makeshift sword fight, using the wooden legs as if they were actual swords.

 

Even while in a spat, those two look too cute together. Lio sometimes thinks they both are too handsome for their own good.

 

In the right side, a bit off from the door, pushed into the corner, Claudio and Dani stand together. Dani’s dodging and ducking, laughing hard, as he holds up two pairs of gloves in his hand. Claudio’s saying something too fast for Lio to lip-read, but he isn’t blind to the mild desperation in the goalkeeper’s eyes.

 

Two more wooden legs lay below them. Six wooden legs, he thinks to himself.

 

To the other window, Marc and Sergi are playing a hand game. Lio’s thankful it’s not the sexual kind. No, the two young men are playing some kind of kids hand game like Patty Cake and Miss Sue. They look so enthusiastic. They are in their twenties, but Lio can’t help but sometime look at them like they were kids.

 

He looks towards the table and to his surprise he sees piles of chair seats under it. He decides not to count them for fear of being bored drastically and from having to take the responsibility of explaining it to the mister and the mister’s staff what happened.

 

Underneath the table, in the only small space left open sat Ivan. The Croatian’s picking up each wooden flat bottom of a chair, examining it, and then putting it back where he found it. He looks like he’s singing to himself, a soft smile on his face. The man seems calm despite the loud chatter.

 

Lio wonders just what everyone did to break the chairs. He wonders how the window was broken and how no one got hurt. He starts to come up with excuses he can relay to the mister. He could say that the chairs were old and that they needed to be refurbished. He could say that someone outside the room broke the window. He could say all those things, but could he say it with a straight face?

 

He suddenly feels a bit nervous. His insides feel jumbled. Would he be able to keep a straight face while looking at the mister? Could he look at the man and not feel – changed?

 

For a while, he thought of the mister as just a coach. The man isn’t a father figure and isn’t a mentor figure either. He was just a coach. Right? He was just a coach like Lio was just one of his players. They have an amicable rapport with one another. He knows it’s not like a mentor-student kind of relationship. That’s what he had with Pep. They are more equals than he was ever with the other coach. It surely isn’t a father-son relationship. He doesn’t have those kinds of feelings like he had with Tito.

 

Then what was it?

 

-

_Lio walked into the guest locker rooms. He had nothing but a towel that covered up his lower half. He had finished taking a long shower, under the hot water, and thought about the game that just ended. He felt pleased about the win, but was really disappointed by the way he played._

_Could have done better, he thought._

_He opened the door to his borrowed locker. He put his hand out to grab the shirt hanging in there when he hears footsteps behind him. He pulled his hand back and turned around to see this mister standing a few feet away from him._

_Enrique had his hands in his pockets. He remained still and ever watchful._

 

_Lio felt like the man was analyzing him. He felt too open and unprotected. It felt like the mister’s eyes were going all over his body, stopping at specific areas like his crotch, his abs, his hands, his neck, and finally his eyes._

_Lio couldn’t move even though his legs felt like jelly and he was certain that they would collapse right from under him. He was frozen at the spot by Enrique’s almost predatory gaze. He couldn’t stop himself from swallowing air and desperately hoped that the other man couldn’t see just how nervous and unsure that he felt._

_He felt the heat in his cheeks. He felt a burning sensation in his thighs. He thought about running which was laughable because he wasn’t in any serious danger. But he felt a threat in the way the mister looked at him. In the man’s eyes was imminent danger not of violence, but of something else. It looked primal like an animal, so strong and so insane._

_Lio didn’t say anything. No words could possibly come out of his mouth at the moment. He was rooted to the spot and not capable of moving from the spot. He felt vulnerable and he wished he didn’t just have a towel on._

 

_What made it all worse was that Enrique still didn’t say anything to him._

_“Yes?” he asked, feeling his arms twitch. He wrapped one arm around his waist where the towel was._

_Enrique didn’t say anything. He just bit his lips and groaned._

_Lio blinked, as the heat below him got hotter. He used his other arm to cover that up. What the hell? he thinks loudly._

_Enrique seemed to have won a battle within himself. He let out a deep breath and the dangerous glint in his eyes faded._

_“Nothing.”_

_Enrique left the room._

_Lio was alone again, and he was baffled at what had just happened. It didn’t help that he had an erection._

-

 

Lio isn’t sure if he wants to name what he feels for this coach. It is something both physical and emotional. He knows that much at least. If he names it, that means things will be different. That means that he will have to address it properly.

 

He tells himself that he isn’t ready for that.

 

That leaves three people, he thinks. He’s glad that he was able to change the subject in his mind.

 

To the side of the table, just ahead of Marc and Sergi, are Sandro and Munir. The recent La Masia grads were opening the cabinets next to them. Pulling out item after item, they would read what it was, and then put it back in. One grabs a scissor and the other grabs a string, and it appears that their arguing about whether the string should be cut or not.

 

Lio loves how naïve they can be sometimes. Even with their extra handsome faces, he knows how young they are and with that youth they bear a bit of innocence and a whole lot of energy. He likes training with them because he feels like he could learn something new from them footballing wise.

 

Which leaves Andres, he thinks. Where could the captain be? He’s running out of space to look through.

 

“We woke you up.” Andre says in a true whisper, apologetically.

 

Andres is standing over him with a kind smile on his face. His fingers are gently running through Lio’s hair. He looks like he’s blocked out the noise as well. His face is so white and clear, and his eyes are filled with concern.

 

“Shouldn’t you all be in the showers?” Lio asks, giving another quick glance at those around him. “It’s late, don’t you all have people to go home to?”

 

Andres nods. “Yes, of course, we should get ready.” He pauses and takes his turn looking at the men around him. “But, Geri says we needed to see you.”

 

Lio withholds his laugh. He isn’t surprised to hear that Geri was the one who planned this.

 

The bickering gets louder.

 

Thud.

 

Thud.

 

Lio watches as Andres removes the hand from his hair. The captain raises his hand up in the air, turns a bit so everyone could see his face. He looks around with this gentle yet seemingly calculating eyes.

 

“Enough.”

 

He doesn’t whisper. He doesn’t shout. He just says the word.

 

Lio watches in amazement despite having seen his captain do this before. Andres gets unfairly criticized for not being a good captain, which is completely ridiculous because Iniesta was made for being a captain.

 

Everyone shuts up immediately.

 

Geri looks tempted to speak, but he holds back. His eyes turn toward Andres’ voice and he makes eye contact with Lio. He seems a bit surprised, but that quickly fades away into humor.

 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Geri says.

 

Everyone’s eyes are on Lio now. He can see a whirl of emotion on their faces. The looks change to as soon as they see that red mark on his knee. He catches the breaths being held and the bits of fury that shine out from their eyes.

 

“How’s it feel?” Luis asked. He doesn’t move from where he stands. His hand is now holding Ney’s. His thumb is over Ney’s thumb, rubbing it over and over. “Your leg. How is it?”

 

Lio looks at his knee before looking back at the striker.

 

“It still stings,” he says, choosing to tell the truth instead of lie. Maybe a lie could have worked. He’d be free to go about his business and he’d have avoided the stuffiness that was over-protective reactions. “But I’m fine,” he adds. He’d get caught in the lie. He knows it.

 

“You’ve been through worse.” Masche said with a frown. That is true, Lio thinks. He nods in agreement.

 

“Doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t have happened.” Ter Stegen said eyes are filled with worry. He lets go of the wooden legs and wraps his arms around Rafinha. Lio smiles gently at them, admiring the love that has developed between the team.

 

“That was too close.” Bravo says, shaking his head.

 

“I can’t believe he did that!” Ney cries. He sounds offended and genuinely upset. He’s worried just as much as the rest of them, and a bit angrier.

 

A murmur of agreement comes from the others.

 

“Cleats up even!” Jordi cries.

 

“He wasn’t anywhere near the ball.” Ivan commiserates.

 

“It was the heat of the game?” Sergi says, trying to make sense of things.

 

“That looked like he did it on purpose.” Marc adds.

 

“The heat of the game or not, it shouldn’t have happened.” Rafa says.

 

“Did you bleed, Lio?” Munir asks.

 

Leo almost misses the questions due to the bombardment of words. He feels Andres’ fingers run through his hair again and he finds his balance.

 

“No, thankfully,” he answers. He was lucky. If the bottom of those cleats had gone any deeper he wouldn’t be in this room. He would be in the hospital.

 

Another round of murmurs happen.

 

Knock.

 

Everyone quiets down.

 

Knock.

  
  
Someone’s at the door, Lio thinks.

 

“Someone’s at the door.” Andre says.

 

Knock.

 

“Stop fussing over him.” Juan Carlos Unzue calls from behind the door. “He needs to be checked again by the doctor.”

 

“Someone let him in.” Bravo says, but Geri shouts, “Gives us a few!” The Catalan shouts again when he sees Jordi about to move to the door. “Stay put, chipmunk. Keep those paws off the door!”

 

Masche says, “Someone let him in.”

 

“No one asked for your opinion, Masche.” Geri snaps back in a loving tone.

 

Knock.

 

“Geri let them open the door.” Juan Carlos says. He sounds a bit annoyed, like a parent with naughty kids.

 

“I said give us a few.” Geri says back.

 

Knock.

 

“Fine.” Juan Carlos says.

 

Lio is glad he doesn’t have to be checked on by the doctor again at this moment. He thinks about how he’ll have to skip a session of training to rest his legs and to relax his mind after a hard fight. As nice as that sounds, it isn’t want he wants. He wants to get a massage, take a shower, and head home.

 

But how can he get home when his friends are seemingly holding him hostage? He hasn’t tried to swing his legs over, place his feet on the tile floor, and make a break for the door. He knows that Geri would find a way to stop him and if not Geri, the man would convince someone else to stop him.

 

I need to wait a bit more, he thinks.

 

“Did you see the Mister, Lio?” Ney says.

 

Everyone either nods or says “Oh yeah, the mister.”

 

Lio looks at him in confusion. What was he supposed to see? He really had no time to look at where Lucho was during the time of his foul. Did the mister finally get into a fight with someone? He and his teammates always suspect that one day it will happen. Was today the day?

 

And as bad as this foul was, why did the mister get so incredibly angry over his? Surely, the man has seen far worse challenges in his tenure as coach. He knows Ney has gotten far worse challenges than he has. Why get mad over that?

 

I shouldn’t be singled out, he thinks.

 

-

 

_“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’re incredible.”_

_Lio picked up the ball that rolled to his feet. He spun it around in his hand and looked at his coach. He nodded as an answer._

_“You’re a genius and should be taken care of.” Enrique continued._

_His voice was low as if not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on what he was saying. Everyone else was busy doing drills and there was no way any could overhear them, but Lio could see that the other man wanted to be careful._

_“Treasured by all including me,” the mister added._

_Lio shrugged, still playing with the ball, and he looked at his coach, but not directly into the man’s eyes. He saw how deep Enrique’s eyes were. They were so deep he figured that if he wasn’t too careful he could get lost in them._

_“I’m just another player on the team,” he said humbly._

_He did all the same things his teammates did in training. He completed every drill to the best of his ability. He lifted the weights and ran on the treadmill. He followed the dietician’s orders. He was just like any other player. He was a man who did his all for his team._

_“You’re my player.” Enrique said quickly. Lio heard the emphasis on the word my._

_This made Lio stop playing with the ball. Before he could think, the ball fell to the ground. He bends down to get the ball and he got his hands on it, but he felt hands on his. He recognized the hands and he looked up to see Enrique bent down as well, those stormy eyes staring into his._

_Lio felt his breath hitch._

_Enrique’s hands are half smooth and half rough. The fingertips were hot and the palms were cold. It was such a strange combination of temperatures. They were the complete opposite of his hands. Lio had smooth hands, unblemished by anything. His hands were a bit smaller than the mister’s. A sudden thought of how their hands could look like when held together rushed into his mind._

_He withdrew his hands._

_Enrique picked up the ball. “I want nothing but success for you.”_

-

 

“Oh yeah, he was furious.” Luis agreed, nodding with Ney. But furious enough to fight, Lio wonders. No, there couldn’t have been a fight. When he eventually got up, he saw the mister still standing and the only person that was sent off was Felipe.

 

“I’ve seen him mad.” Masche said evenly. He’s holding his chin thoughtfully. “But this was different.”

 

“He looked like how Masche is all the time.” Geri said with a grin. This almost makes Lio laugh out loud, but he swallows it down knowing fully well that Masche wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

“Careful, Geri.” Masche warns. He’s glaring again at Geri, but this time with no grin. But he doesn’t look stiff, nor were his shoulders fully back. The man wasn’t in his tear-you-down-for-messing-with-the-wrong-person fight mode.

 

“Seriously, did you see him?” Ney asked again.

 

Lio sees everyone look at him expectantly. He shakes his head. Whatever it was they wanted him to see, he didn’t see. Whatever that part of him that is different wanted to see, he didn’t see.

 

Did it matter? He was a bit busy anyways.

 

“I was too busy trying to not hurt to see anything.” Lio answers, rubbing his knee again as if to make a point.

 

“He looked like Masche is whenever he puts on a jersey.” Geri says grinning, his eyes shining. “Which is all the time!”

 

A round of laughter escapes people’s lips. The only people not laughing are Lio and Andres.

 

“What did I say earlier, Geri?” Masche says.

 

“I didn’t hear you.” Geri shrugs.

 

“Of course not.” Masche says, rolling his eyes.

 

“That’s because I wasn’t listening.” Geri adds, deftly avoiding a smack to his face and goes to hide behind Luis.

 

“Why is it important that I know what the mister did?” Lio asked.

 

His friends keep on asking if he saw what Lucho did. He doesn’t get any answers back. What did the mister do? What did the man say? How does it concern him? And why do I really want to know now, he asks himself. He wants to frown a bit for he was confused as to the reason why he really wanted to know how Enrique reacted to the foul.

 

Does it have to do with that feeling he can’t name? Does it have to do with the way he looks at the man? Does it have to do with how that man looks at him?

 

“Que es eso. Over and over again.” Geri says and everyone else nods. He jumps and flaps and waves his arms. He hits Masche in the face and the man lets out a little hiss. “Que es eso!”

 

“I thought he was going to kill the refs.” Rafa says as he picks up one of the wooden legs. He waves it like a bat at an invisible object. “If not with his fists, he looked like he would have grabbed something to use.”

 

“If he hadn’t, you know Masche would have.” Geri says a little too gleefully.

 

“Damnit, Geri.” Masche says. He reaches over Luis and smacks Geri on the shoulder.

 

Geri laughs and avoids Masche’s second go at it-slap to his arm. “That’s right you weren’t even there. I could have sworn you’d run the man of the ground.”

 

“I was tempted. But if I had joined in…” Masche says casually with a shrug.

 

Everyone knows how protective he was over Lio. He chose himself to be a fighter and protector in both the national team and the club. No one, when it mattered, could or dared to stop him from going at whoever tried to hurt Lio.

 

“You’d have gotten a red too.” Lio said.

 

“But back to the mister.” Ney said.

 

The words come out of his friends’ mouths so quickly. All of it at once, into his face, and all Lio could do was just rub his head.

 

“Que es eso.” Geri says.

 

“Flapping his around like mad.” Ivan says.

 

“Madder than I’ve seen anyone.” Rafinha says.

 

“He wasn’t just angry.” Busi says.

 

“He was in a rage.” Dani says.

 

“He was scared.” Andres says.

 

“We all were.” Masche says.

 

Everyone falls quiet.

 

They all look at Lio with so much concern. Some of them glance at his knee. Others drop whatever they are holding and clutch their own knees as if feeling the same pain Lio was feeling. Sometimes he feels like they put him on a pedestal just as much as the fans do. It’s in moments like this where all he wants is for them to stop stuffing the room with worry and treat him like they normally do.

 

Make fun of something, or me, he thinks.

 

“I’m okay, I promise.” Lio assures them, taking his hand away from his knee. He sees no relief on his teammates’ faces. The concern is still there and it grows at his words. He sighs heavily. “I promise you all, I’ll take it easy the next few days,” he says.

 

-

 

_Everyone in the guest locker room was shirtless, soaked from champagne and water, and they jumped and danced to the loud music blaring from the speakers. Together they felt overjoyed about winning the league. After a season of nothing, they got their first title of this new season and they were on cloud nine._

_Different songs were being sung in the room like “Campeones, campeones,” “Lo, lo, lo, lo” and there were chants against their rivals like “Espanyol didn’t make it to Europe,” and “Madrid, cabron saluda campeon.” Everyone participated in each of them. It didn’t matter if they had only been the club for a season, they still sang._

_No one sang harder and louder than Pique. He was down to his underwear just like the other players except Luis who liked to be the only one still wearing his undershirt and shorts. Geri had a large bottle of champagne in his arms, a cigar in his mouth, and he shook the bottle over those around them. He laughed and sang as he drenched himself in the liquid._

_“Champions, motherfuckers!” he cried enthusiastically. He jumped and jumped along with his teammates. “They beat us at home to win the title…” He splashed everyone again earning laughter and more screams. “Butt today, we do that to them! LA LIGA IS OURS.”_

_Lio was buzzed. He didn’t drink any of the whiskey and wine that Geri brought, but the win more than enough to make him feel elated. He held the same amount of energy as his teammates during the jumping and singing._

_La Liga champions, he thinks. He was a La Liga champion. The smile on his face couldn’t be wiped away. His cheeks burned because he was smiling so much. He thought he would lose his voice if he went along screaming with the others._

_He pulled himself away from his friends and walked to the adjoining room. He tried to wipe away the liquid and sweat that was on his body, but it didn’t work. He just felt the sticky combo on his hands and he laughed._

_“Congrats, Messi.”_

_Lio stopped at the doorway._

_In front of him was the mister; he had a warm smile on his face and his eyes were merry. All of his clothes were dripping the mixture of champagne and water. The wetness didn’t have any affect on his shoes or his slacks, but it did change his white button up shirt._

_The shirt seemed tighter on Enrique. It clung to the man’s body and since it was white, the wetness made things see-through. The shirt had already been a fitted sized around the Austurian but now it was tighter._

_Lio found himself not returning his gaze to Enrique’s eyes. He felt his lips quiver and his head tilt. The fitted shirt, tighter than before, was clinging to the mister’s skin. It was so see through that he could see the outline of the man’s tattoos. But what engrossed him the most was the lining of Enrique’s chest down to his definition of his six-pack and the man's hips._

_The sound of his teammates cheering in the other room no longer was heard. It was replaced by the racing beats of his heart. He felt tingles on his lower back, his arms, and between his thighs._

_He felt the urge to rip the shirt apart just so he could lay his hands on those hips and touch those abs._

_“Does it ever feel old to you?” Enrique asked._

_Lio shot his head up, felt his cheeks flush and his hands shook. He felt exposed all of a sudden. He was an open book to other man; his shirt was off and he was down to only his underwear._

_Those dark eyes in front of him looked like they weren’t just concentrated at his eyes, but at his body as a whole, and he shivered at the intensity in Enrique’s scrutiny._

_“Uh, the first one was special,” he said, flustered. He blinked a bunch in an attempt to get the image of Enrique’s abs and hips out of his mind. “But no, it never gets old.”_

_Enrique seemed satisfied with the answer. A part of his tongue stuck out, near a corner of his mouth, and it made Lio want to shake all over._

_“Well, like I said earlier,” Enrique said, his voice wavered a bit and his body swayed too. His dark eyes had a hint of red to them. Lio realized then that the coach was tipsy. “Congrats, Messi.”_

_Lio shook his head._

_Every coach calls him Messi most of the time. Sabella did, Tito did, Pep did, but he didn’t want Enrique too. It sounded too cold, too unattached in the man’s lips. He made the decision that he wanted the mister to call him by his first name and his first name only. He wanted to hear the man’s voice say his name._

_A shiver went down his spine as he corrected Enrique, “Lionel.”_

_He stepped forward._

_“Or Lio.”_

_He made another measured step forward. The other man didn’t step back in response. No, Enrique stayed absolutely still, and he watched curiously._

_“I’d prefer you call me one of those.”_

_He stopped an arm’s length away from Enrique._

_Lio couldn’t move any closer. The feeling of courage that he had just to stand this far away and to even speak this way was fleeting. He felt himself openly breathing heavily. His mouth was open, his eyes were wet, and he felt his loins burn._

_He remembered that time in the Camp Nou locker room. That was the last time he felt this burning sensation and knew what it was. He looked down briefly and saw the answer. He was erect and there was no way to hide it._

_Enrique wasn’t looking at his lower half though. His attention sought only Lio’s eyes. He was searching through them, probably unpacking whatever set of files he had in his own mind. If he wasn’t tipsy, Lio knew that he would be completely still, but his hands twitched and his tongue kept on hanging out from corner to corner._

_“Then it only seems fair that you call me, Luis or Lucho.” Enrique replied, his voice was heavy with what Lio suspected to be lust. But also to his surprise, it bore a bit of apprehension. “I’ll respond to either one.”_

_Why was Enr – no, Lucho fussy? Could it be that the other man was feeling nervous, unsure about what was happening between them? Lio wondered in amazement if the other man was just as curious and just as bewildered by the change in dynamic between them._

_No, it wasn’t even a change in dynamic. Whatever this was, whatever was felt between them had been here since Lucho became Barcelona’s coach._

_“Lucho.” Lio said to test the name out. He closed his eyes and images of the man’s body flooded his mind. “Lucho,” he said again slowly as his heart quickened._

_Then he felt hands on him. He felt a strong arm wrap around his waist. There was a body pressed up against him and a hand holding his head. He opened his eyes to see Lucho’s face so close to his that if he moved just a bit their heads would touch, and maybe even their lips._

_Lucho had an untamed look in his eyes. It was like he was eating up the image before him. He was a like a predator that caught his prey, and Lio wondered when he would finally take that step to devour –him- his prey._

_Filled with adrenaline thanks to the win and by being so close to Lucho, Lio wrapped his arm around the older man’s waist. He pushed his hips upward against Lucho’s and smiled when he heard a low moan._

_He thought about taking Lucho’s lips. He thought about how for the past months he had fantasized about a moment like this happening. Sometimes his own thoughts could confuse him because at this moment, he wanted to explore the other man’s body. But the thing was, despite this confidence and this desire, he was still scared about what could happen._

_He hadn’t felt this way before about anyone._

_Before either man could make the decision to lean forward for a kiss, loud clapping and footsteps could be heard from the hallway connecting the two rooms. They could hear the familiar chants and songs that were in the other room._

_Lio pulled back, unwrapped his arm, and used his other one to put distance between himself and Lucho. Confused about the moment and frustrated about not getting relief, Lio cursed and shook his head. He noticed that Lucho was equally frustrated and that he was running his hands through his hair over and over again._

_“MISTER.”_

_The voices of Lio’s teammates cried out as they entered the room. He ducked his head and discreetly covered his bottom half with a hand. He felt himself getting pulled away by the arms of Luis and Ney. He tried to find Lucho and make eye contact, hoping to maybe translate a message through his eyes._

_But Lucho was busy dancing with the players that surrounded him._

-

 

Thud.

 

Everyone turns their attention to the door. They hear another thud and then a click.

 

Thud.

 

“Quick.” Geri actually whispers. He motions at the wooden legs. “Put them under the table.”

 

Lio watches with amusement as his friends, barring Andres and Masche, scramble to place the wooden material under the table. He sees Ney pull on the curtain for window so that it could block the large hole.

 

After everything’s placed under the table, a few of them stand at the corners of the table while Marc, Rafa, Jordi, and Ney squat down in front of the table to block the view from the wooden legs and wooden tops. Andres is still beside him while Masche has moved to stand at the other edge of the standing chair.

 

The door swings open slowly to reveal Luis Enrique with Juan Carlos and Rafa Pol right behind him.

 

Lio’s heart flutters and he hopes that the others don’t leave him. He has the feeling that Lucho wants to be alone with him.

 

Lucho has one hand in his pocket. He looks around the room and at each of his players except Lio. Lio sees Andres and Masche’s face be completely blank. They are patient and almost unconcerned. Some of his other teammates are trying not to giggle, but he also sees some looking a bit scared as if awaiting a scolding. Their mister seems to notice this too.

 

Taking this into account, Lucho looks around the room again. His eyes rest on the window that had the curtains drawn. He titled his head at it. With long strides, he got to the window before any of his players could react. He grabs the curtain, and pulls it back to reveal the giant hole.

 

Juan Carlos asks the question that’s on the three coach’s minds. “Why is there a hole there?”

 

“What hole?” Jordi asks.

 

“I don’t see a hole.” Ney adds.

 

Masche shakes his head. “It was Pique.” He isn’t the type of person that lies to coaches. But what not a lot of people know is that he likes watching people get into trouble. In actuality, he likes seeing Geri get caught.

 

“Traitor.” Geri says, stepping forward. He points at the hole. “That was an accident.”

 

Lucho raises an eyebrow. He waits to Geri to expand on that.

 

“An accident.” Geri says confidently. He nods over at Luis and Ney. “They pushed me and my arm found it’s way through the window.” He’s smiling, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

 

Lio feels his lips twitch. He loves the crazy ideas that come to his friend’s head. He loves watching Geri act out on his impulses and enact his carefully thought up pranks. He knows that there wasn’t a punishment tough enough to change Geri or his actions.

 

“Shouldn’t you all be hitting the showers?” Rafa Pol asks. He and Juan Carlos stood at the side of the doorway to make room for the players. “You all stink,” Juan Carlos, adds.

 

“Go.” Lucho says, leaving now room for protest.

 

One by one, the players step forward. They give a kiss to Lio’s forehead or gently pat him on the shoulder before exiting. Ney, Luis, Marc, and Rafinha stand up, revealing the mess behind them, and ran out of the room, blowing kisses at Lio and laughing when Geri mutters, “Oh shit that.”

 

The last remaining players in the room besides Lio are Andres, Geri, and Masche. Lucho steps away from the window and walks to the table where the pile of wooden legs and tops are. He bends down to get a better look at them.

 

Geri uses this as his chance to escape without hearing some choice words from the mister, but he’s too slow. Lucho catches him with his eyes and grabs his wrist.

 

“Those chairs had been here since 1992,” he said.

 

Lio knows that Lucho is telling the truth. He has heard many tales from staff members about these chairs and how rare it was to see things like this last in the stadium for so long. He knows that there are at least two other rooms like the one they are in. He can only imagine how irksome it is to see one fall about like this.

 

Geri opens his mouth, but words don’t come out. He looks from Lucho, who releases his grip on Geri's wrist, to the wooden stuff to Lucho to the wooden stuff and back to Lucho again. He opens his mouth again to speak, but again, no words are able to come out. He looks to Andres and Masche, but they say nothing to him, their faces still blank and ever patient.

 

He finally looks at Lio, but Lio shrugs. What could he say to help his friend? Not much really, he thinks. He shakes his head and mouths quietly, “You’re on your own for this one.”

 

“It won’t happen again.” Geri finally says quickly.

 

Lucho raises his eyebrow again, not in full believing what he is hearing. He nods, eventually, after a beat or two, in acceptance and replies, “You’re paying for all the damage.”

 

This comment breaks the stone-faced Masche. He doubles over laughing and coughing. Even Andres’ face breaks and he’s smiling, eyes bright. Lio takes the cue and joins in, smiling and lightly laughing.

 

“Yes, sir.” Geri says, laughing also after giving Masche a glare. He scratches the back of his head. “That’s fine, mister.”

 

Lucho smiles but he’s not laughing. He stands up and nods towards the door. “Go on,” he says as he walks back to his previous spot near the window. “When you have the money, leave it in my office.” He pauses. “This should be good practice for you, you know, when you become president.”

 

The word president makes Masche roll his eyes as he recovers from his fit of laughter. Andres merely nods in agreement. They all know that Geri has a desire to be president of Barca one day. It makes perfect sense to all of them too. Geri loves Barca and is probably more cule than the flag.

 

Lio thinks Geri’s presidency would be the best the club’s ever had.

 

Geri stops at the doorway. He turns his head and grins. “I can’t wait to be called that.” He walks off laughing, arms around Rafa Pol and Juan Carlos saying, “Mr. President. President Gerard Pique. President of Barca. I love it.”

 

Lucho smile fades and he brushes something off of his shoulders. He looks at the three men before him and nods. His eyes fall onto Lio’s knee and upward to Lio’s eyes. He takes a breath and just waits.

 

He’s unreadable once more.

 

Lio feels exposed once again. He feels himself strain to sit up. He moves his legs and drops them so they can hang off the chair. He straightens himself, feels his legs twitch, his thigh stings, and he rubs the back of his neck.

 

The room has just gotten hotter to him. He feels newly form sweat form on his forehead. The lower part of his back tingles and he resists shaking. Lucho’s eyes on him never fail to make him want to tremble.

 

Andres seems to sense something change in the room. He reaches up and runs his finger though Lio’s hair one more time. He lays a soft kiss on the side of Lio’s head. After he turns to Masche and nods.

 

Masche has heard whatever Andres was saying silently. He nods in agreement and pats Lio on the shoulder before he follows Andres out of the room and closes the door.

 

-

 

_Lio found Enrique sitting down in one of the seats overlooking the two boxes that the players from each team sat in. His legs were placed on top of the railing and his arms were crossed. He had a thoughtful look on his face and his lips were pursed._

_Lio thought about walking away and out of the stadium, but his feet move toward the man. He looks down at Enrique, and says, “You’re ready for tomorrow?”_

_Enrique looked up. For once, there was surprise on his face. It was like he was torn away from some deep thought or some memory. His eyes were a bit clouded. There was a storm brewing in his dark eyes, and Lio wanted to know why._

_“I’ve been waiting for tomorrow ever since I found out I was going to be first team coach,” Enrique replied. He gestured for Lio to sit down and returned his gaze to the pitch before them. “This was bound to happen.”_

_Lio furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?” he asked. He didn't look out toward the pitch, but at instead looked at Enrique. What was going on? This wasn’t like the Enrique he had come to know. The man rarely looked so troubled.  
_

_“We can beat them.” Lio said, hoping to assure his coach. “They are a team to possibly fear, but we’re the team with no fear.” He quietly urged for the fogginess in Enrique's eyes to disappear. He didn’t want to see that._

_Lio wanted to see the mischief, the confidence, and that indescribable look that he gave him when they’re alone._

_“I’ve never been one to think about legacy,” Enrique said. It was apparent that he didn’t hear Lio’s words. He shook his head. “I’ve never been one for comparisons either” He punched the air. “Yet here I am, sulking – no, dwelling on tomorrow’s game and how I can finally prove that I’m not Pep." He sighed. "How I can prove that not being Pep is okay...”_

_Realization struck Lio. He was witnessing insecurity. Enrique was feeling doubt. Here was a man that walked with confidence, had a sassy humor, believed in himself and in his team to a fault, and carried himself with ease; here he was, unsure of himself. This was like a revelation to Lio._

_Enrique was human. More human than I realized, he thought._

_He was about ready to list the differences between Enrique and Pep in his mind, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to make a list, because when it came down to it – when one strips away the mask and steps down from the pedestal, Enrique was something more than Pep ever could be._

_Lio can’t name it, but he felt it._

_“We fight for you,” he eventually said. He slowly, with utmost care, laid his hand on top of Enrique’s hand. “We don’t fight for Pep anymore.” He squeezed Enrique’s hand and looked out to the pitch._

_“I fight for you.”_

\--

 

A few moments pass in silence after the door is shut. Lucho stays where he’s at by the window and he stares at Lio.

 

Lio feels exposed like before, but it’s not as frightening or peculiar as the last time. He doesn’t see any shade of lust in the other man’s eyes. There’s more vulnerability in there, being drawn out by something, and it makes his heart flutter again.

“Better a bruise than blood and broken bone, no?” Lucho finally says, nodding at Lio’s knee. The amount of concern in his voice is strong.

 

Lio starts playing with the bottom of his jersey. He looks down at his fingers and shirt, nodding and says, “Definitely.” He hears Lucho breathe out a breath as if he had been holding it. He smiles a bit and continues, “I’m okay though. Nothing to worry about.”

 

“Of course you are.”

 

Lio looks up from his hands. The way Lucho said that sounds like the man didn’t believe him or at least wants more reassurance. He is pleased to see a bit more emotion on Lucho’s face. The wrinkles on his forehead are more prominent, his lips are open a bit a part, and his eyes are filled with worry.

 

“You don’t believe me,” he says, still fiddling with his shirt. He watches Lucho sway a bit, back and forth. He wonders if the worry in the Lucho’s mind is over how he could have lost a player for a few months. He hopes that the worry is more about him as a person than him as a player.

 

“I’ll believe you when the doctor examines you again.” Lucho says, voice a bit unsteady. He has withdrawn a hand from one of his pockets and he’s now fiddling with his tie. “You need to be examined again,” he insists.

 

Lio likes seeing this little tic coming from Lucho. He feels a bit more comfortable because of it. He thinks that he’s not alone in this unexplainable energy between them. The word isn’t there, still, but he knows that he wasn’t the only one thinking about it. He couldn’t be the only one thinking about it.

 

“It stings, but I’m okay,” he says as confidently as he can. He resists the urge to rub his knee. He has no wish to be examined by the doctors again. He rather wants to have one of the massage therapists back here, or at least, he wants to go in the showers and then head home. “I’m okay,” he says, assuring in tone.

 

Lucho looks like he’s about to say something. He opens his mouth, but he hesitates. He looks like he’s debating something within himself. A sign of frustration comes on his face along with something looking a lot like fear.

 

“The others told me about your reaction.” Lio says, breaking the silence, hoping his words can pull Lucho out of whatever he was battling.

 

Lucho says nothing. He’s not looking exactly at Lio, but through Lio, looking at something unseen.

 

\--

 

_Lio stood on the Bernabeu pitch alone with his thoughts. He rubbed his hands to overcome the slight chill in the air. He debated whether he should run a bit or jump to get his body warm and to prepare his legs for the match later in the evening._

_The feeling he had was a familiar one. He had been in this stadium for many years, usually twice a season, and sometimes more than three a season. He knew how white this place could get with their white flags, kits, and Galatico mentality. He could hear their anthem playing in his mind, a sound that he didn’t necessarily hate, but he knew he didn’t like._

_He pulled up his sleeves so most of his hands can be covered. He breathed onto them so the warmth of his breath could heat up his hands. He recalled the past losses here, on the cheers that the Madridista cried out onto the field whenever he and Barcelona had the disappointment of losing in this field._

_Losing here didn’t hurt as much as losing to them at the Camp Nou. But that didn’t matter all that much, he had a history winning here and he was determined to keep that the same. Again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to help much during the first half and even during the first ten to fifteen minutes of the second half, but he was sure that his legs were healed, and they would carry him to help his team, his club, his fellow cules win._

_“I remember watching that 6-2 win you had here. It was so satisfying. Seeing them wave those white flags, and whistle at their players while you and everyone with Barca’s heads were held up high, ahh, I get shivers still.”_

_Lio didn’t need to turn his head. He felt Lucho’s breath on his neck and he shivered not worrying about whether Lucho could see it. He would blame the chill in the air and not on how Lucho’s hot breath made his insides turn, and how it made his lower half get set on fire._

_“Soundly beating them is one of my favorite things in football.” Lio replied honestly._

_He can’t help it. He grew up with Barcelona. Every since the age of thirteen, he belonged with and to Barcelona, so much so that he felt a certain kind of dislike, a little close to hate, about certain teams like Real Madrid._

_Many of my favorite goals are the ones I scored against Madrid, he thinks._

_Lucho was at his side now. His arms were crossed, and his hands were rubbing his upper arms to keep warm. He wasn’t looking at the stands, but his eyes moved from one goal end to another._

_“Many of my favorite goals are the ones I scored against Madrid.” Lucho said._

_Lio raises his eyebrow at how similar his thought was to what Lucho said. They both felt their personal goals against Madrid were the ones that gave them a lot of pleasure._

_“I remember my very first goal against them here. What a moment!” Lucho continued as he smiled at the memory._

_Lio smiled back. He looked up that very match online as soon as he learned Lucho was going to be coach of Barca. He remembered he had gone through many hoops and loops to obtain tape of the whole match. He watched it in one of the many offices in Camp Nou._

_  
“It was a thrilling moment, huh?” Lio asked rhetorically. Lucho gave him a nod anyway. “You ran, pulling your Barca jersey, behind the goal end, in front of the ultras.” He looked at Lucho, proud of what the man had done and he felt pumped for the match tonight. “Proof that you only felt blaugrana.”_

_“Like how you kissed the crest when you scored.” Lucho said, still not looking at Lio. He was smiling now. “They hate you here, you know that?” Lio knew. It was so secret how most if not all of Madrid felt about him. “They won’t ever applaud you because they hate how good you are, how much better you are than their Ronaldo.”_

_Lio quietly said, "Tsk."_

_He didn’t like the comparisons between him and any other players especially Ronaldo. They were two different people with different personalities and skills. He never focused on any players that other people believed and/or thought were better than him. The only thing he paid attention to was his individual self and his time with his team. He didn’t have a use for the tabloids and their fascination with pitting him against Ronaldo._

_Lio felt Lucho’s hand on his shoulder. He made eye contact with Lucho and saw in them the same strange thing that he couldn’t name, the strange thing, a feeling that was also inside of him._

_“Tonight, you return to break their hearts all over again.”_

\--

 

“Lucho, say something.” Lio says, a bit concerned about how quiet the man is being.

 

He respects the silence and finds himself in it quite a lot. He shares it Andres, and Marc Andre, but he never expects it from Lucho. With Lucho, he expects the silence to be filled with that strange feeling, with that undeniable spark between them, not this empty-like void.

 

Lucho blinks. His eyes go down to Lio’s knee and he visibly shakes once, twice, and three times. He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and shakes again. It looks like he’s trying to gather strength, maybe even get back into reality and out of whatever he was in a few moments ago.

 

Having enough of the silence, unwilling to stay in it for even longer than he already has, Lio places his feet on the ground. He winces as he feels a slight pain in his knees, and he braces himself by grabbing the side of the chair.

 

All the conflicting things within him about Lucho are still there, but they are a secondary thought to him now. Right at this moment, he wants to bring Lucho out of whatever it is that he was in and bring him back into reality with him. He wants to see more than a glimpse of what Lucho is thinking and feeling. He has to get Lucho out of it.

 

“Lucho, what is it?” he asks. He feels his knees shake as he takes a step forward toward Lucho. He stops, and says, “Talk to me.”

 

The fog disappears from Lucho’s eyes. He blinks again. He looks surprised to see Lio standing. His eyes widen and his mouth is open. He points at Lio’s knee and back at Lio’s chest.

 

“Talk to me,” Lio says, knees shaking still. He bends a bit and puts his hand over his knee. “Remember what I said about the boys telling me how you were on the sideline earlier?”

 

Lucho gives in and puts his hands up as if to placate someone, maybe Lio or maybe himself.

 

“What is there to say?” Lucho asks, more to himself than to Lio. The tone of his voice is soft and his eyes are wet with unshed tears. For what Lucho wants to cry about, Lio wasn’t sure. “I thought I saw a brutal tackle.” His eyes flash, remembering the moment. “I thought that your season could be over. Maybe a bit of me thought your career could be over." He shakes his head a bit.  "That foul was so bad.”

 

“But I’m healthy.” Lio insists.

 

He was scared after the foul too. He was so worried about how much his knee hurt. He can’t deny that the fear crossed his mind. He, too, feared that his season was done, and yes, he had that little fear that his playing days were over too.

 

Thank goodness that’s not the case, he thinks.

 

He repeats his actions and steps forward, stops and lets his knee shake. “I was given the green light to continue playing. I’m okay for any other match you have for me,” he continues, hoping his voice cuts through the lingering bits of fog, and heads into Lucho.

 

Lucho struggles with his next words. “I – I wo-wouldn’t be able to handle y-you being injured because of that foul.” He looks at Lio’s shaking knee, at the red mark that’s on it. “I was so upset that you were hurt.” He starts to shake again. “I was terrified because I thought that foul had injured you.”

 

Lio feels struck by the power in Lucho’s voice. His knees stop shaking and he tugs at his jersey. The nervous tic of his is back. He feels himself open and vulnerable once again. He realizes he doesn’t like the idea of Lucho scared, he dislikes the fact that he was the one that scared Lucho. This leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

 

“But I’m no-” he tries to say, but Lucho interrupts him by using his long stride to close the gap between them. The older man carefully takes Lio’s hands into his and holds them like they were sacred.

 

Lio loses his breath when Lucho takes his hands. He tries to gulp but the motion doesn’t happen. He feels his knees shake again and he tries to tell himself that there’s no reason to freak out. Was he freaking out? By the way his heart is racing and how his eyes go from Lucho’s hands to his lips, he confirms that he’s freaking the hell out.

 

“I can’t bear the thought of this team being without you.” Lucho says. He brings Lio’s hands up to his lips and he starts to kiss each finger. The sight is riveting to Lio and he lets out a little sigh at each kiss. “I can’t bear the thought of me being…” he trails off as he finishes kissing the top of Lio’s fingers.

 

Lio hears the unspoken “without you” and he becomes overwhelmed by that strange feeling again. The unknown feeling, the one that he isn’t able to name, surges through him and intoxicates him. It seems to rise from his soul into his body straight into his lungs and his heart. It’s not lust even though he has that in him too. It’s not companionship even though he has that with Lucho. It’s something else and it’s weird.

 

Like an epiphany, Lio realizes what he wants with the strange feeling. He knows how vulnerable it can make him feel at times. He understands how it makes him quake at the uncertainty. He accepts that he goes along with the lust and his desire for physical contact, and he also accepts how this feeling goes along with their friendship and how he depends on their honesty with one another.

 

Like finding a four-leafed clover, like lightning in a bottle, Lio knows that this strange feeling isn’t going to happen again. This is it, this feeling is it, and no matter how fearful he can be, he has no wish to let go of this feeling.

 

He wants it.

 

He needs it.

 

He’s going to explore it.

 

Lio pulls his hands from Lucho’s hands. Ignoring the man’s inquiring gaze, he lifts his hands toward Lucho’s face and cups the man’s cheeks. He uses his thumbs to stroke Lucho nine o’clock shave, which makes Lucho close his eyes and sigh happily.

 

“I’m not going in anywhere.” Lio says with fondness. He makes his forehead go up against Lucho’s. He wraps one arm around Lucho’s waist while letting his other hand continue stroke the man’s face. “What is that you screamed? Que es eso?” He smiled a soft smile. “I'm okay, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Life changed as soon as Lucho came into his life. Everything he ever known was thrown into a loop, challenged, and pushed around thanks to the man. He could never see Lucho like the way he saw the other coaches, but he has no complaints about that. This strange feeling between is much more than just coach and player.

 

It meant something important.

 

“Que es esto?” Lucho asks as he wrapped his arm around Lio. He sighs again as he raises his hand to cup Lio’s face. He looks deep into Lio eyes, searching for answers. Lio sees the warmth in Lucho’s eyes and is blown away by the vulnerability in them.

 

“What is this?” Lucho asks again. The caring tone in his voice made Lio’s heart flutter again.

 

What is this? He’s been asking himself that for the past two years. What is this? What is this strange feeling? What is this feeling that consumes them both? What is this feeling that connects them and refuses to break?

 

That’s a good question, he thinks.

 

Lio feels free, content with the idea of spending the rest of his life answering that question; he captures Lucho’s lips hungrily and lets the strange feeling wash over him.

 

Whatever this is, he knows it’s meant to last.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> I always loved the idea of Lucho and Lio together. You all know I love writing about Lucho with Pep, but I have a little soft spot for him and Lio
> 
> \- The fact that during Lio's first call up with the first team he almost had an assist from Lucho in a game.  
> \- Lucho and Lio training argument.  
> \- The way the celebrate, anytime they celebrate together.  
> \- That photo of them during the presentation of the Nou Nou Camp.  
> \- THE HUG AFTER THE COPA DEL REY 2016 FINAL
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
